The Identical Boy by Matthew Stott Read Free Book Online

hadn’t been able to face shool. To face his gang. To face him. He’d gone to the abandoned train track and sat on his own all day, until it was time to go home. He hadn’t even set any fires, which was one of his favourite things to do at that place. He’d just sat and stared blankly at the tracks, his knee throbbing rhythmically as a constant reminder of what had just happened. That he hadn’t dreamt or imagined it. It was real.
    Fear was real.
    Mark’s eyes scanned the schoolyard.
    He’d never felt unsure or worried about crossing into that playground before. It was his yard. His school. No one stepped out of line with him, everyone respected him. Or was scared of him at least—same thing as far as he was concerned. But now?
    Was he in there? Mark scanned from person to person.
    This was dumb. Sam must have drugged him or something, that was all there was to it. Hallucinations! Yeah, yeah, that could be it. Mark’s knee throbbed.
    He continued to look, but could see no sign of Sam in the school grounds.
    Sooner or later, he would cross Sam’s path again. Bound to. No avoiding it. And what then? He should just … just pummel him. No thinking, no chance for weak doubt, just start punching. Show him Mark was the boss. Not scared of anything. Not scared of—
    ‘Mark!’
    He jumped, startled, even taking a step back.
    ‘Oi, Mark, what you doing? Come on, we’re playing soccer.’ One of Mark’s gang, waving him over.
    Mark swallowed, swore at himself, and headed over. The other children still stepped aside, still deferred to him, anxiety and fear washing across their faces as he passed them by. They didn’t know. Only he knew. And Sam. Both of the Sams. Only they knew the humiliation he’d suffered. He didn’t feel strong; he felt weak. Beaten. Angry.
    ‘When we going to do for Sam then?’ asked Patrick. Fat, white-blonde hair, a shirt at least one size too small.
    ‘When I say so, all right?’ said Mark, snapping. Patrick stepped back.
    Mark went over to a low wall and sat, brooding. What had happened—it wasn’t right. Not just Sam getting one over on him, but the thing Sam had been able to do. Maybe it was just some twin brother Mark didn’t know about? But Mark knew it wasn’t.
    Then what? Black magic? Voodoo? What was voodoo again? Whatever it was, it wasn’t right. It was evil. Mark had felt it, felt it chill his bones. Felt it chase at his heels as he ran, heart beating so hard it might have burst from his chest. The unnaturalness of it all.
    ‘There he is,’ said Kath. Mark followed Kath’s pointing hand, and saw Sam crossing into the playground.
    He wasn’t creeping round the wall as usual. He was walking right across the middle. And he was smiling . Actually, it looked like he was laughing. Mark shivered.
    ‘Come on, then, let’s go push him over or something, yeah?’
    ‘What?’ said Mark.
    ‘We should take him to the woods at break. Do the dog poo thing again!’ The others laughed, Mark joined in, but as he did so his eyes met Sam’s, and he knew he wasn’t going to do anything to Sam. Wasn’t going to go anywhere near Sam.
    He was afraid.
     
    ***
    Mark spent second period in the toilets. Third, too. He sat on the toilet seat, cubicle door closed, wondering what to do. He thought about telling someone, but telling them what? They’d think he was mad for sure if he told them about magic, and horror, and a boy that used to be one but now was two.
    He didn’t want to face it. Not for a bit. Just needed to regroup, that was all. Get things straight. Get back to his old self. Couldn’t do that here. Not here. Not with him out there. Not with Sam walking the same corridors.
    He just wouldn’t come back to school then. For a bit. Fake some sort of sickness. Head sick. What was it called? Depressive. Ultra-depressive. The up-and-down one. Maniac-depression , it was called, something like that. He’d look it up later. His Mum would believe him if he sold it well enough. She’d